The Inn's common room is quiet. So much so that you can hear the birds chirping outside, through the windows flung open against the oppressive heat. A scant few men sit in the Inn still, either nursing their cups, waiting for someone, or something, or just trying to burn some time.

A girl working here hums to herself as she sweeps the floor, kicking up small waves of dust, which slowly settle again in the still air, the Innkeep himself is polishing the the bar-top from which he sells the occasional drink, and clearly has been for a while, as the wood practically glows, where it isn't scarred or pitted, evidence from tavern brawls past.

There is a sense of waiting, and of oppressive silence. Two weeks travel out from Celeren by foot, less then half that by horse or carriage, this little flyspeck of a village frequently sees travelers and, carriages and caravans. More to the point it frequently sees those who have a good reason to not be in or about Celeren itself, but still need to get picked up by a carriage.

The sun is high in the sky, without a cloud in the sky. Despite it being winter it hasn't rained in weeks and the heat is unseasonably warm. So early in the day the inn is near empty, but last night it was filled to the brim, and rooms were going for almost ridiculous amounts of silver. Stories had filled the place, rumors of invasion by the Empire, or War with the savage tribes of the farthest east, even a few sobering whispers of news from around Thorns...

Dhyer glanced around the common room, his ears hunting for anything, a rumor, a warning, anything that signaled a job that somebody would be willing to pay him for. Back when he had first started as a bounty hunter, he'd found no shortage of jobs, but quite a few of those ended up as pro-bono cases, terrorized farmers with nothing to pay him with after the corpses were buried. So he listened. There was always rumor being thrown about a common room, even when it was as desolately populated as it was at this hour, but it was nothing he hadn't heard before. Oh, he took note, but he filed it away as something that only might be useful in the future.

He motioned over the serving girl. "Get me a mug of whatever you've got tapped, and if the kitchen's open, something with fish." It was early to be drinking but he had time to kill, and as his father had always said, "It be easy to be bored sober, and hard to be bored drunk". He settled back into the border-line uncomfortable chair in which he resided, trying to watch everyone in the room at once. He wasn't afraid of any of the dirty townsfolk or sordid travelers that inhabited the inn at this sullen hour, but as far as he knew, a knife in the back could still kill him, as he hadn't really bothered to test the limits of his durability. He pulled his hood up, not enough to obscure his face, but enough to give him a certain air of non-approachability. He waited for twilight, and with it, the real gossip, to arrive.

The food and drink arrives, and in short order Dhyer begins to find the world a more pleasant place. Or at least the alcohol merrily swimming about in his system tells him that he does, and he sees no reason to argue with it.

As the evening loses it's shine and dusk begins to threaten the inn slowly fills, and With a sharp ear out for rumors Dhyer overhears several. It seems some noble in Derens Ford is somehow influencing the drug trade in Celeren, though for better or worse it's hard to say. A few villages inbetween Celeren and Puyo have been ransacked and burned. The primary suspect seems to be bandits, but as of yet there are no survivors to confirm this. The dead have been sighted farther from Thorns than usual, though no particularly dangerous ghosts or the like Dimly, very dimly and in hushed tones you manage to make out a brief whisper from the back. It seems that Lookshy has been recruiting mercenaries and individual warriors of late, for startling rates of pay...

Dhyer pondered his nightly bounty of rumors, musing over each in turn.

The Druglord in Deren's Ford was troubling, but he tried to stay out of politics after that situation a few months ago where he'd put down a rebellious noble of some little backwater town and his miniature army only to have his employer put a bounty on his head for killing her cousin. He hadn't had an easy time putting down an even dozen of the harridan's henchmen, and the publicity hadn't been welcome.

The incursions into the River Province proper by the dead were none of his business, though he had had the misfortune of taking a job that ended with him getting trapped in a basement with half a score of batshit insane 'Cultists of the Shadow of the Behemoth'.

Working for the Seventh sounded profitable indeed, but he wasn't exactly avid on throwing himself into the biggest concentration of Dragonbloods outside of Imperial City. Maybe if he was desperate, but he wasn't eager to have to beware every step he took.

The Bandits between Puyo and Celeren, now there might be profit in that. And the spread of their victims indicated both organization and size. Surely they'd spited someone through their acts, though the total lack of survivors was troubling. He'd once tracked down a similar band, though they hadn't hit nearly as many villages as the rumors seemed to suggest this band had. Turned out the bandits were actually a bored young nobleman's son and a few of his father's armsmen playing at the young man's fantasies. He'd very nearly died there, trapped between the apparently prodigal and obviously mad young man and two grizzled veterans who knew how to kill.

Despite his reservations, the bandits seemed the closest thing to a job. He got up an nearly fell back down when his legs gave out beneath him. It seemed he had had a bit more to drink than he had intended. He glanced down at the table and was nearly shocked to see nearly a score of mugs splayed across the table like corpses after a massacre, bleeding foam and small trickles of ale or some other alchoholic beverage. He steadied himself with a hand on the table and threw himself to his feet, steadied himself again, and staggered towards the stairs. Along the way he tossed a few coins to the innkeeper, likely far more than enough to pay for the bootswill and minnows he'd injested, as well as the room he'd asked for when he'd arrived. He found the room, unlocked the door with the key he didn't remember how he'd obtained, and after fumbling with the lock for what felt like an hour, felt it click and the door swing in. He turned, relocked the door from the inside, and collapsed on the small cot, not even bothered to undress. His eyes closed before his head hit the mangy cot, and he was probably asleep before his eyes closed.

Dhyber wakes up to a loud crack and a flash of light. Through the window, thrown open to catch a breeze a chill wind blows, and clouds billow outside, though no rain falls. As the clouds diffuse the light it's impossible to tell what hour of the day it is at a glance, but by the people bustling about it must be past early morning.

Glancing out the window it's easy to see people bustling about with an energy that hadn't been present the day before and the air is filled with a sense of a mix between optimism and concern. Something's up, but nothing more is going to be learned in this ramshackle little room.

Dhyer slowly began to feel a dull pounding in the back of his head as he gazed out the window, a dull shadow of the massive hangover he should have had. He grimaced. He had always assumed a hangover was the Gods' way of punching a drunkard in the face on the roundabout, and now he didn't even get those. Regardless, as he tromped down the stairs he affected a certain stumble, just so he didn't rouse any suspicions. He'd picked up quite a few nuances of having a body better than one strictly human, and remaining inconspicuous seemed to consume as much of his thoughts as everything else put together at times.

As he reached the common room, he quickly took stock of the empty space before staggering over to the bar, where the barkeep still swished the polishing rag across the spotless counter. Affecting a slur, he spoke. "Wass 'appenin'?" He grimaced and put a hand to his forehead as though he actually had the headache he probably deserved. "Sometin' 'appen?"

"'Still here? Your horse is gone." The innkeeper states flatly.. "'n it's a coach." says the innkeeper shortly. "Buncha Dragonbloods too, wif somma der monks. Sez they lookin' fer someone. Headin out east. Two a da' monks insistin they offer travel ta people. Res' agreed, but only ones what can do fightin', an promise ta fight some bloke they think is out east." here he glances at you with a sparkle of interest. "Somma da' lads headin' that way is buttin' heads over rights ta' go. It's da only coach and what wif dere being so few towns or waterin' holes 'long the way, plus those bandits...even da best don't fancy dere chances even if they go as a group."

SHIT! Wyld huntsmen? Here? And his horse gone? On the same night? What were the bloody chances of that? Without a horse it would take him weeks if not months to track down any bandits! AND WYLD HUNTSMEN! WYLD HUNTSMEN! HERE! WHAT IF THEY COULD TELL JUST BY LOOKING...? What if they already knew? Maybe they'd ambush him the instant he left the inn.... He tried to hide his shock from the barkeep. And he knew the man expected him to express interest in the caravan.. "Were'za coach?"